


requiem

by nauticalwarrior



Series: danganronpa ED fic [2]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, more tags will be added later to avoid apoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28061844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nauticalwarrior/pseuds/nauticalwarrior
Summary: Kokichi knows what he's doing isn't smart. Knowing he should stop and being able to stop are two very different things.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Series: danganronpa ED fic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055597
Comments: 20
Kudos: 127





	1. for mourning

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning for eating disorders for this entire fic! please be cautious and don't trigger yourself! 
> 
> i have been wanting to write a companion piece to my ED danganronpa longfic for a long time, and this is what i've ended up with so far. it's not a sequel and it isn't even in the same world, but i hope it keeps the spirit of what lies was. i've changed a lot as both a person and a writer since i last wrote for this fandom. i really hope you enjoy! 
> 
> for this chapter, i think the warning about eating disorders should be sufficient. in the future, trigger warnings will be in the end notes to avoid spoilers. please check the end notes if you need warnings!

Kokichi moves into his new apartment on a quiet winter morning. The lady at the front desk is polite, but didn’t laugh enough at his jokes, and there isn’t anyone out and about. It makes sense, of course; it’s drizzling a soft layer of ice-cold rain and just below fifty degrees. He’s still bored, though. When he sets down his last box, it’s soaked with water from being in the back of his truck, and his hands are slick on the side of it. He sits on the floor, staying there for a little too long. His butt aches from the bare tile. 

He stares out the window, watching the water drip down the other side of the glass. It’s starting to rain harder outside, the soft sound of the water pattering on the ground outside. The upstairs neighbors are moving around too, their footsteps barely audible through the ceiling. His stomach growls. 

A knock at the door startles him, and he jerks upright from where he’d started to slouch over a little. His hair is still a little damp from the rain, and a droplet rolls off of one strand and onto his cheek as he stands up to get the door. He wipes it off, peering through the peephole. 

Standing through the door is a guy around his age, with dark hair and a formal uniform. He’s holding a potted plant with dark, glossy leaves and a jar of something, his weight shifting back and forth between each foot like he’s nervous. Kokichi leans back and opens the door.

The boy jumps, and Kokichi snickers at him. “What did you think was going to happen if you knocked at someone’s door?” He asks, putting the hand that isn’t holding the door open on his hip and grinning. 

“Oh, um...” he trails off and straightens his hat, a plain black baseball cap. “Sorry. I just wanted to bring you something?” His voice twists upwards at the end, like he’s asking a question he’s afraid to hear the answer to. He holds out the potted plant, shifting his grip on the jar so that it’s tucked under one arm. Now that he’s closer, Kokichi thinks it’s one of those jarred cookie mixes, the kind you get at holidays. 

“Oh, for my birthday?” Kokichi asks, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly and raising his eyebrows like he’s surprised. The boy in front of him blinks and widens his eyes.

“It’s your birthday?” He sounds like he’s fully convinced, and Kokichi just can’t help but to snort at the dumbstruck look on the poor guy’s face.

“Nope!” He pops the p sound. “I’m just a liar, that’s all!” He reaches out, taking the potted plant from him. The pot is heavy, but he doesn’t have any trouble placing it on his front porch, the rain dripping off of the roof far above gently splashing onto the dark soil.

“Oh.” The guy seriously looks like he thinks he’s having a weird dream or something. “Well, um, I’m Shuuichi Saihara. I live across the street,” he says, holding out the jar of cookie mix like it’s his form of a handshake. “This is homemade, it’s for chocolate chip cookies,” he explains. “I hope you’re not allergic to anything...”

Kokichi takes the jar from Saihara and shrugs. “Would you believe me if I told you I was? I might be lying again, you know.” He winks, watching Saihara flush slightly. This guy is such an open book that it almost hurts to look at!

“Right...” Saihara adjusts his hat. “Um, could I get your name...?”

“Oh, I’m Shinguji Korekiyo.” Kokichi gives him a little wave. “I’m going to bake these cookies now, Saihara-chan!”

Saihara blinks in surprise yet again as Kokichi shuts the door. He waits, looking out the peephole, until Saihara sighs, his shoulders moving with the motion of it, and walks away, across the street.

“Looks like  _ he _ wasn’t lying!” Kokichi hums to himself, walking into the kitchen and putting the jar on the countertop next to his boxes. He won’t be baking them, but the jar will look nice as decoration, he supposes. 

He rolls up his sleeves and turns back to the rest of his new apartment. He’s got a lot of unpacking to do. 

\--

It takes him until the sun has set to finish unpacking, but he finishes in one day. His new apartment is decorated like he likes it, with black covers on the furniture and framed prints of playing cards up on the walls. He thinks he’s done all of the command strips right this time, as opposed to last time where all of his stuff came crashing down in the middle of the night. His last apartment was smaller than this one, with textured walls that definitely didn’t help the command strip situation. He already likes this one better, with the front porch and the back balcony that looks out into the woods. It was more expensive, but it’s worth it to live somewhere nice for once. 

“Not like I can’t afford it,” he mutters, walking over to the glass balcony door and sitting down on the chair he’d moved over to look out at the balcony. Maybe when it gets warmer he’ll get something for outside, but even with his heating set to 75 degrees, he’s chilly in the apartment. He has one of those plug-in heaters that looks like a fireplace in his bedroom, but now he’s thinking he needs a heated blanket or something for the living room.

The balcony situation is really more like a fenced in porch since he’s on the first floor, but it’s nice nonetheless. It stopped raining a few hours ago, but the woods are still green with the rain, and he can make out the trees just barely in the darkness. It’s a full moon tonight, he remembers, even though he can’t see it through the cloud cover. 

He thinks about school. How he gets a fresh start this semester. How he’s already nervous about the next semester even though the last one already ended. How he could probably lose ten, maybe twenty pounds before he starts at the new university. He could be the thinnest one there, like a child in form, thin and pale and pretty. He tries not to think about that too much. It never ends well. 

Kokichi draws his legs up to his chest and stares out the window as a deer, a young buck with a small set of antlers, steps out of the darkness and stares forward, like it can see him. Another deer emerges from the forest, a doe almost the same size as the buck. His mom, maybe? Kokichi waves at them, expecting them to startle and run away, but the buck leans down and starts to chew on the long grass at the edges of the woods, the blades peeking through Kokichi’s fence. If he went outside and reached his hand through the bars, he could touch the deer’s antlers, pet its head. 

He doesn’t, though. Instead, he watches the deer amble about quietly as he lets his eyes drift out of focus. He’s exhausted. Even though it’s still quite early, he slips into sleep in that chair facing the window.

\--

Kokichi wakes up to three short knocks on his front door, making him fall out of the armchair and onto the tile. His knee stings from the impact, and he can already tell it’s going to bruise. He makes himself get up anyway, his limbs heavy with sleep, and he drags himself to the front door to look through the peephole once again.

It’s Saihara, and he’s wearing casual clothes now. Kokichi notes that it’s Saturday, so he’s probably off of work. Kokichi really needs to get back to his work, speaking of, but right now he’s got what looks like an irritated Saihara on his front porch. He waits until Saihara looks like he’s going to knock again, and he opens the door quickly, causing Saihara to stumble slightly.

“You,” Saihara says flatly, his eyebrows low in a way that he probably thinks looks intimidating. “Are not Shinguji Korekiyo.”

“Nice to see you too,” Kokichi says, grinning slyly and looking at his nails. “How’s the weather? I just woke up, haven’t had a chance to check the forecast yet.”

“Shinguji is a convicted serial killer on death row. He’s world famous.” Saihara crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Yeah, I know.” Kokichi meets his gaze. “Didn’t I say I was a liar?”

Saihara doesn’t seem to know how to react to that. “Well, yeah, it’s just--” He clears his throat, looks away. “I gave you  _ my  _ real name, and you gave me an obvious fake.”

“Unfair, right?” Kokichi says, giggling. “I think you’ve got to earn my name first.”

Saihara squints at him. “I brought you a potted plant.”

Kokichi hums. “Fair enough. I’m Ouma Kokichi.”

“Hmm.” Saihara pulls out his phone and types on it for a second. He glances between the phone screen and Kokichi’s face. Kokichi makes sure to make a stupid face at him. “So you are.”

“So I am,” Kokichi says, leaning on the doorframe. “Did you need something? Or do you just have a little crush on me? Couldn’t keep away?”

That seems to get Saihara, finally, and he blushes a bright red. “No, I just wanted to get your name! I don’t-- I don’t have--” He shakes his head. “Sorry, but most people wouldn’t give  _ that  _ name if they wanted to lie. I just... I wanted to know what kind of person would,” he says, looking sheepish.

Kokichi wiggles his eyebrows. “Satisfied?” He winks.

Saihara is still a little red from before, so it’s hard to tell if this gets him or not, but he seems to need a second before he replies. He sticks his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “The weather is fine, if you were actually wondering,” he’s looking off to the side. “It’s chilly, but I don’t think it’ll rain again until tonight.”

Kokichi hums. “Well, should I expect to see you here bright and early again tomorrow? Or is that only if I lie to you blatantly, y’know, as opposed to the more subtle lies?”

Saihara looks at him. “Um... I can come by tomorrow, if you want?” He says it like a question, so genuine that Kokichi kinda wants to squeeze his face. 

Kokichi shrugs. “Sure, if you’ve got nothing better to do. I bet Saihara-chan is a NEET, right? Right?”

Saihara adjusts his hat. “No, I’m not... But yes, I’ll see you tomorrow. Stay warm?”

Kokichi giggles. “I’ll try.”

\--

There’s a strange smell in Kokichi’s apartment. At first he thought it was the heating element, since it was probably turned off for a while before he moved in. But the smell doesn’t go away as the days pass, and he starts to wonder what it is. It isn’t unpleasant. But he doesn’t think he brought this smell with him. 

He’s dressed to go out now, wearing a black turtleneck and a dark violet skirt over black ripped tights and knee high socks that match his skirt. It’s a pretty banger outfit, all things considered. When he gets to his goal weight, he wants to take pictures in it where he poses like the people in thinspo. Nothing showing but a skirt and two stick-thin legs, tiny even under layers of fabric. He’s at a low enough weight right now to wear the outfit in public but not to take pictures of himself or anything like that. He’s not exactly thinspo material. He thinks in 20 pounds though, he might be. 

He opens the door and steps out into the cold, turning to lock the door behind him as he pulls it shut. His fingers shake as he twists the key, and he thinks it’s about time he got some gloves. Maybe something purple, he thinks, since it would look nice with a lot of his clothes. 

He’s parked a good ways away, too, which sucks because it’s super cold today and he left his leather jacket in the car. He stuffs his hands into his armpits and hustles along the sidewalk, stealing a glance across the street as he does. 

Saihara’s apartment looks right at his, but Saihara is on the second floor, so his has a set of stairs to climb before the front door. Saihara has a bunch of potted plants, too, a lot like the kind he gave to Kokichi. There’s also Christmas lights up on his porch railing, the kind that are pure bright white and twinkle a little. It’s kind of nice, not that Kokichi is going to tell Saihara that. He should see if they make purple and black Christmas lights. 

He unlocks his car as soon as it’s close enough and jogs a little to get to it faster. The wind has picked up, and his face prickles with the cold as he opens his car door and slides inside. His fuzzy dice swing mockingly at him from his rearview mirror, and he sticks his tongue out at them. 

The drive to the grocery store is a blur, and Kokichi absentmindedly wonders if he should have eaten something before getting behind the wheel. He’s driven while fasting before, so going to the store really shouldn’t be a problem, but then again he hasn’t been this weight in a long time. He pulls into the closest parking spot he can find, fairly close to the doors since it’s cold and it’s a weekday morning so most people are off doing something else. He grabs his leather jacket from the passenger seat and slides it on as he hops out of the car, shivering at the chill that clings to the fabric. 

His car beeps as he fumbles with the keys, pressing the lock button and walking quickly into the store. He’s out of pretty much everything, considering that he didn’t take much food with him when he moved in the first place, so he’s promised himself to only get safe foods. He’ll only have them in the apartment, so he won’t have anything to worry about. Everything will be prepared perfectly.

It’s just as deserted in the store as it is outside, but it’s much warmer, which Kokichi is thankful for. The store is lit with warm yellow light and smells like cinnamon and fir trees, with a Christmas tree right by the entrance, all decked out in twinkling lights and glittery ornaments. Kokichi pulls a cart free from its dock and pushes it over to where he can see the produce department. It’s bigger than the one he’s used to. 

He stops in front of the apple display and thinks about how fitting it is that he likes apples so much. He picks up a small honeycrisp apple, it’s skin mottled pale green and light pink. It smells like candy. He sets it in the cart, then grabs another and smells it, inhaling deeply. One of these will definitely be breakfast later, he decides. 

He puts a carton of blueberries in his cart, even though they’re not in season, and then a container of spinach and a red bell pepper. He thinks about it a bit, then grabs a head of cabbage. They’re on sale. He wants to buy more produce, since that might encourage him to eat healthier or whatever, but he knows himself well enough to know he wouldn’t finish it in time if he got more. It’s not like the grocery store is going anywhere. 

The wheels of his cart rattle across the tile as he pushes his cart forward. He doesn’t really know where things are in this store since it’s his first time, but he can see the meat department off to one side and opts to ignore it. Straight ahead, he can see wooden display carts boasting loaves of fresh bread, cartons of muffins, boxes of donuts, and loads of cookies. A sheet of glass guards the cakes and pies, but he can still smell them. His sense of smell is so strong when he’s restricting that it’s intoxicating. He almost doesn’t want to eat any of this for the fear that it wouldn’t taste as good as it smells. He pushes his cart past an older man looking at the muffins and stops by a display of half-loaves of bread. It’s been so long since he’s had nice bakery bread and not the lower calorie kind. 

He picks up a bagged loaf with a golden crust and a layer of salt crystals on top, with pieces of herbs peeking through. It smells like rosemary and honey, like summer in the country. He puts it in the cart and wonders if he’s going to eat it or if he’s just throwing away two dollars. Briefly, he smells that same smell as in his apartment. He wonders if it clung to him. 

Ahead of him is clearly the pantry part of the store, the part that comes with calorie labels and neat, organized boxes. He keeps his eyes above him, at the signs that say what’s on each aisle, turning down the second one. He fills his cart with three cans of light soup and two things of microwave rice. He thinks for a second, staring at the colorful packages of ramen noodles, but decides against it. Those calories would be better spent elsewhere. 

Next aisle, he picks out a jar of pickles and some ketchup. He skips three aisles, full of stuff for people who actually cook. He goes down the next one, grabbing sugar free grape soda and water flavoring. They’ve got more flavors here than the last store, and the aisles are wider. 

In the candy aisle, he gets individually wrapped sour patch kids and gummy bears in Christmas colors because they’re 70 calories a pack and hey, why not? He smells something familiar, but he pushes his cart into the dairy and frozen section to get yogurt and whatever the lowest calorie milk they have is. The ice cream is watching him as he grabs two of each of his favorite flavor of yogurt, his eyes reading the names of flavors without his permission. Cookies and cream. Chocolate chip cookie dough. Butter pecan. Mint chocolate chip. 

Kokichi stares straight ahead and pushes his cart towards the checkout, even though he didn’t get protein bars or coffee yet. He can come back later. When he isn’t as hungry. 

There isn’t a line, thankfully. Kokichi pushes his cart into a checkout line and ignores the cinnamon buns and peach cobbler they have sitting nearby, under a heat lamp. His stomach rebels, of course, growling, but he just looks the cashier in the eyes and smiles. It smells like his apartment here, too. 

He makes small talk, and he’s about to swipe his card to pay when he realizes. His apartment smells like vanilla. 

\--

After work, Shuuichi likes to go for a walk if the weather is nice enough. His job is rewarding and he loves it, but it takes a toll on him, and he needs time to think afterwards. Today, it’s actually not too cold, with only a slight breeze making his jacket worth wearing. The park is relatively deserted when he pulls into the parking lot, the gravel crunching under his car tires, and he doesn’t see anyone else on the trail he likes to take. It’s late afternoon, and the sun filters through the trees at an angle, casting bright golden shadows on the dirt path. He steps out of his car and shuts the door behind him, the noise startling a few birds out of their hiding spots in the bushes. He doesn’t bother locking his car, just sticks his keys in his jacket pocket and starts off down the trail. 

It smells faintly of woodsmoke today, and the forest is as lively as always, with squirrels chattering high above him in the trees. It’s the right season for the hollies to be full of bright crimson berries, and sure enough, the edges of the path are lined with fruiting hollies. He sticks his hands in his pockets and walks slowly, savoring the warmth from the sunlight hitting his face. It’s the warmest it’s been all week, and he’s not going to let it go to waste. 

Sometimes he thinks about running away. Not like when he was a teenager and didn’t want to visit his parents, when he just wanted to go anywhere but there. He thinks about leaving his job, his college, his apartment, and going to the woods. Living off the land until he inevitably dies from exposure or something else. Going peacefully, quietly, where the vultures would clean up after his corpse and he wouldn’t cause any fuss. Somewhere like a national park, in the back reaches where nobody would ever go unless they were trying to be alone for the rest of their life. 

He wouldn’t, though. He reaches out and tugs on a holly branch as he passes it, the berries popping off and spilling like drops of blood onto the dirt. He’s got responsibilities, things he wants to do. But he likes to think about it all the same, to daydream about what his life would be like if he wasn’t studying criminal justice, if he wasn’t a junior detective, if he didn’t have anything to worry about. It would be easier, he thinks, even though he knows it would be hard in its own way. The kinds of woods they have where he lives don’t really have anything you can eat in them, not all year round anyway. He doesn’t think he’d like the starvation part of it very much. 

Shuuichi blinks back into focus as his footsteps change from the crunch of dirt and rocks to the tapping of shoes on weather wood. He must have been more spaced out than he thought; it usually feels longer than this to get to the creek and the bridge that crosses it. He stops, like he always does on the bridge, and looks over the side. There’s no railing or anything, but the bridge is only a few feet off the ground, anyway. The creek isn’t dangerous, deep, or fast, but it’s wide and muddy and the red clay in the soil here makes getting the mud off of your shoes nearly impossible. It’s pretty, though, and this creek runs even in dry weather. Shuuichi stares at his distorted reflection in the water as it gurgles past, running underneath his feet and down the hill, probably all the way to the river. He realizes he doesn’t actually know where it ends; this trail doesn’t go that way. Maybe another one does. 

He turns back towards the path and starts walking again. One day, maybe he’ll figure out if the creek meets the river or if it ends, in a lake or a pond or simply shrinking into nothing but a few, lonely drops of water. 

\--

Kokichi wonders if he should get a pet. His apartment still smells like vanilla, emanating from that stupid cookkie mix he still hasn’t thrown away. It feels wrong to keep it and not even pretend he’s eaten it, but. He might kind of like the smell of vanilla, the way it’s sweet and warm and reminds him of bakeries and ice cream. Things he can’t have anymore.

Anyway. He thinks he could get a cat, probably. This apartment complex allows them for a fee, and he has some cash leftover from the last job he and the boys did. It’d keep him company, at the very least. He shifts where he’s sitting by the window, unfolding his legs from where they were cross-legged flopping back so he’s lying on the floor. The tile is cold, and it hurts the back of his head where it meets the ground. 

“Forget the cat,” he mumbles to himself. “I should get a rug.” He makes himself sit up again, straining a little more than he would like. He supposes it’s time to start doing sit-ups again. He stares out the window, at the sun rising behind the trees. It must be cold today, he thinks, because the edges of the grass are white and glittering with frost. 

He stands up, hand out expectantly for the head rush he sometimes gets, but he doesn’t feel anything more than a hint of his heartbeat in his temples. He sighs, draggin his socked feet across the floor and into the kitchen where his coffee machine sits. It’s a bright pink, beat-up old Keurig that he’s had since his freshman year, but it’s his and he loves it. He sticks a coffee pod in the machine and waits for it to get ready as he opens his cabinet, pulling out a mug and setting it under the machine. It makes some weird noises, kind of like a cat purring, and Kokichi snickers. He should  _ totally _ get a cat. Who’s going to stop him?

As soon as the screen says the coffee maker is ready, he presses start. The scent of coffee, dark and sweet and rich, fills his apartment, masking the vanilla that lingers there most of the time. He thinks that next time he goes to the store, he’ll get something vanilla flavored to put in his coffee. He’s seen some unsweetened vanilla plant milks that shouldn’t be too high calorie, and maybe then he’d get over his obsession with this damn smell and throw away the cookie mix already. If Saihara comes over at this point and sees it’s just chilling on his countertop, what is he going to think? Do normal people do that? Or would they make the cookies? Kokichi doesn’t know. He’s never been an adult without an eating disorder. This is how he’s been since long before he would have been getting gifts from nosy neighbors and making himself coffee alone in his apartment. This is what he knows how to do. 

The machine makes the awful gurgling noise that means it’s done brewing, and Kokichi grabs the cup, setting it on the counter. He turns to his fridge and takes out his carton of oatmilk. He doesn’t actually like oatmilk that much, but it’s the lowest calorie milk he’s found and therefore it’s his favorite. He pours it into his coffee until the color looks just about right, then walks back to his fridge, screwing the cap back on the oatmilk. 

He takes his coffee and sits down at his dining table, a little wooden thing made for two or three people, max. He got it at a garage sale back in his hometown, with a couple of the guys from DICE. They helped him move it into his first ever dorm room, even though it came with a coffee table and this one really didn’t fit. 

Kokichi misses them. He takes a long sip of his coffee and reminds himself that it’s for the best. They’re still working together, after all. He just needed to get away from his old school, and they all respected that. He’s the leader, after all. 

He unlocks his phone and scrolls through his contacts, hovering over one of their numbers. He could call them. They all told him to, if he wanted to talk or needed something or had a job for them or just wanted to say hi. They all said he should, even though they all know he isn’t really the type to call unless it was for work. 

He doesn’t call. He locks his phone and sets it face down on the table and takes a big mouthful of coffee, the drink warm and bitter. If he called, they’d ask how he was doing. If he was eating. And he’d either have to lie to them or things would go sour, they’d worry and get uncomfortable and pressure him and he would get pissy. The thing is, they don’t get it. Nobody does, not unless they’ve  _ lived _ with it. It isn’t a painful thing. This is just how he knows to exist. How he knows to eat. It’s nothing he’s actively doing. Just something he lets continue, something he doesn’t stop. He slurps from his mug and stares at the cookie mix. 

He could bake them, if he wanted to. 

\--

It’s nights like this, Kokichi thinks, that make him glad to be alive. 

He’s sitting on his porch, even though it’s freezing cold now that the sun has set, and through the railing he can see the little herd of deer that live in the woods. The doe, with her delicate little legs, is only two, maybe three feet from him where she’s munching on the grass. He can hear her breathing, can hear her snuffling around in the dirt as she bites the base of a mouthful of grass. It’s humid out despite the cold, and Kokichi can feel the frosty dew gathering on his bare arms, but he doesn’t dare move an inch. He doesn’t want to startle the deer.

As he watches, the buck, lithe and lean like his mom (Kokichi doesn’t know for sure it’s his mom, but he likes to imagine that’s the case), emerges from the woods. He settles into place just behind his mom, watching Kokichi with big brown eyes. They remind him of Eisuke’s eyes, from back where all the other guys still are. He’d always had these ginormous brown eyes. He always believed Kokichi’s lies, no matter how silly they were, unless they were something Kokichi actually wanted to be believed. Then he saw right through them. 

Kokichi thinks he’ll call the buck Ei from now on. The doe... He doesn’t really know anyone the doe reminds him of, he thinks. He watches her lift her head and look at the buck, then back into the forest, where eyes gleam in the faint light. There are more of them, but it’s always this doe and buck that come close. Like they’re not afraid of him, like they want to get to know him.

“Sai,” he mumbles, and the doe’s ears flick toward him, like she recognizes the name already. Kokichi smiles to himself, wrapping his arms around his knees and squeezing them to his chest as he continues to watch the deer. 

\--

The morning routine is simple. Kokichi wakes up, makes coffee, drinks it black even though he doesn’t like it that way. Kokichi sits and watches the forest in his pajamas while he drinks his coffee and catches up on twitter. Kokichi drinks two glasses of water with lemon. Kokichi convinces himself to skip breakfast.

He’s in his usual spot right now, but there’s nothing new on his timeline and the news is boring. None of DICE are online, either. He thinks about going for a walk, but he doesn’t want to change out of his sweatpants given the option. It’s a dewy morning, chilly and wet with the rain and the wind whipping the leaves on the trees, and it would be miserable to go anywhere. Kokichi thinks he has an idea.

He gets up (slowly, carefully) and ignores the tiny headrush that he always gets. It’s not so bad, he thinks as he walks into the kitchen, setting his empty coffee mug on the countertop with a soft  _ clink _ . His kitchen is clean, with nothing but that mug on the counter by the sink. He turns around, facing the stove, and grabs the jar of cookie mix sitting beside it.

He won’t eat any, and it’ll be okay he thinks. He sets the oven to 350 degrees, reading the package out loud to himself.

“Add one egg and two tablespoons of melted butter...” he frowns, opening his fridge. He has light buttery spread, and he has eggs. It’ll do.

“Mix everything together, then bake at 350 degrees for 15 minutes. Makes one dozen large cookies or 2 dozen small cookies.” He reads it almost singsony to himself as he pulls out a mixing bowl from the cabinet next to the oven. It’s warm down here from the oven preheating. 

“Hmm, maybe I should bake more.” He dumps the contents of the jar into the bowl, flour and sugar and who knows what else poofing up in a little cloud. Kokichi sneezes, turning away just in time to save the cookie mix. It smells just like vanilla. He doesn’t even think he can smell the chocolate chips at this point. 

He opens the fridge again and weasels an egg out of the carton, too lazy to remove it from the fridge altogether. The shell is slick with condensation, and he cracks it into the bowl. The yolk is bright and golden, smiling up at him as he tosses the shell into the garbage where it sits a few feet away. 

“Goal!” he shouts to his empty apartment, turning back to the fridge and taking out his butter substitute. He’ll need to melt it, of course, and he sets it on the counter and kneels to get another bowl out. He chooses a little glass one, the surface on the inside scratched from years of use. 

He’d gotten this one at a yard sale, in the summer between his junior and senior years of high school. It had been a hot afternoon, even for July, and he was with Eisuke and Akihiro, just looking for stuff for DICE. He also needed to get dishes, since he’d  _ finally _ managed to find a landlord who’d rent to him at 17. He remembered seeing the bowl, probably once part of a set, sitting lonely on a carboard box that was covered in a dark red tablecloth. In the bright summer light, it looked almost pretty, like an ice sculpture or something. Akihiro had said it had “character,” and Eisuke bought it for him, even though only fifty cents and Kokichi could have gotten it himself. Eisuke insisted, and Akihiro backed him up, and well, Kokichi couldn’t say no. He knew they cared about him. 

He plops the first tablespoon of the “butter” into the bowl. Then the second. He wonders if Eisuke and Akihiro can tell he’s still sick, even over text and stuff. They’d been so worried last year, but as far as he can tell, they believe his lies way more easily over the phone and in their group chat. He takes the bowl over to the microwave, sets it for 30 seconds. He’d like to believe that  _ someone _ , even if it isn’t DICE, can see that he’s struggling. That it’s visible. That he isn’t just.... lying to himself. Making it bigger than it really is. He stirs the melted butter-stuff into the egg and the cookie mix. The egg has soaked into the flour and sugar at this point, and it’s not as pretty. He stirs it all together, and the smell of vanilla and fake butter fills his nose, almost choking him. 

He stirs faster, trying to get it all incorporated. He won’t taste it. He won’t. It’s probably contaminated with salmonella or something. Aren’t raw eggs dangerous? He doesn’t know how many calories are in this. 

Kokichi sets the spoon down and backs away to get the cookie sheet. He could have a cookie once they’re done, maybe. He could eat just one. The rest, he’s not sure. He’ll bring some of them over to Saihara’s, but he might not want to take cookies he technically gave to Kokichi in the first place. It’ll be alright. Kokichi could eat just one a day, right? It wouldn’t kill him. He has the self control. He won’t binge. 

“A cookie a day keeps the anorexia away,” he chuckles to himself as he starts to scoop little balls of dough, studded with chocolate chips, onto the cookie sheet. He glances over at the oven and sees that it’s preheated already. He must have missed the ding. 

\--

Shuuichi’s on his way back from work one day when he sees it. It’s already dark outside, but the hazy silhouette in the entrance to the alleyway is just distinct enough to catch his attention. A small, huddled form, with two sharp, pointy ears sits in front of a dumpster. 

Shuuichi isn’t even sure he’s really seeing anything or if he’s imagining it, but he picks up his pace, walking toward the alley. It’s one of the days he works late at the police station, so he’s tired, and it’s just dark enough that he can only be sure it’s real when he gets close enough to hear the soft  _ mrow _ the cat lets out at his approach. He reaches one hand in his pocket, pulling out his cellphone and shaking it until the flashlight turns on automatically. He points the white, too-bright light at the cat, and he gets a glimpse of wide, green eyes and a half orange-half black face before the cat turns tail and runs off into the darkness. Shuuichi follows it with the light, watching the orange, black, and white shape climb up a fire escape and stop there, wiggling its haunches as it prepares to jump up onto a low roof. Shuuichi squeezes his phone in his hand and clenches his fist in his free hand. The cat jumps and lands with plenty of room, too far for Shuuichi to hear any sound it would have made. 

It turns and looks at him before prancing away, green eyes with dark slits for pupils reflecting his phone light, and then it’s gone. 


	2. for waking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is late!! i was out of town over christmas and such, so i couldn't write as much. i want this fic to have between a one and two week update schedule normally!

Kokichi knew that, at some point, DICE would have another job that required him to actually work. He’s known since he decided to move, since he picked out the apartment and moved his stuff in. He’s known this whole time, and he’s still filled with stupid sharp nerves at the thought of getting back to work so soon. It’s illogical, of course. Kokichi always feels better when he’s working. Always eats better when he’s working. But he never ever _wants_ to get back into the swing of things, and that’s why he’s where he is now, in his bed and wrapped up in dar blankets instead of in the living room, on the computer, where he should be. 

His room isn’t chilly, not really, but it’s so warm under the thick cotton comforter that it kind of feels like it’s cold in the room. It’s only seven in the morning, the winter sun yet to fully rise, and the light that comes through from behind his curtains is pale and grey. Kokichi wants to get up. He really does, but the way his limbs are warm and heavy in his sweatpants and t-shirt, the way his mind is fuzzy with lingering sleep makes him want to shut his eyes and sink back into the sheets. _There’s no rush_ , he thinks, then remembers the job. 

Akihiro was the one to text him, which makes sense as he’s usually one of the ones who finds the jobs in the first place. It’s an easy gig, he’d explained, but they need Kokichi doing the computer work. It would take him six, maybe seven hours total of prep work, and then about an hour during the actual job. Not a problem. 

Except Kokichi hasn’t worked a job yet in his new place, and he hasn’t worked a job since Eisuke _caught him purging during work_. He hasn’t worked since their intervention for him, hasn’t worked since he packed up everything he’s ever known and ran away from all of his friends and his found family. And now, when he’s been wallowing in his lonely apartment for weeks, when he’s been “preparing” to go to a new college, when he’s been steadfastly ignoring most of the texts from DICE, the task that would otherwise be an easy job, simple and something he could do the day of, even, seems impossible. He knows he can do it. Easily, even. He just has to start.

Kokichi throws the comforter off of his body and onto the floor, where it lands with a quiet thump. _My hips hurt_ , he notes idly as he forces himself upright in bed, scrubbing sleep from his eyes with the back of his hands and giving himself a little shake before he stands up, careful-slow so he doesn’t faint. It’s stupid that he has to do that, really. It’s not like he hasn’t been eating lately. 

Kokichi walks to his desk, where his laptop is charging on top of a stack of brand new notebooks he still hasn’t taken the packaging off of. They’re for the upcoming semester, and he’d meant to organize them or something before starting classes, but they’re still just sitting where he put them when he first came back from the store that day. 

He unplugs his laptop and carries it with him as he walks out of his bedroom, into the living room. It’s just as he left it, with a blanket tossed on the couch and his chair pulled up in front of the glass door to the porch. There’s still the tray of cookies on the counter, three missing. They’re going to go bad before he finishes them, if he keeps up his current rate. He’ll have one later, probably. 

He sets his laptop down on the couch, where it bounces just the slightest bit, and he walks into the kitchen, clicking his keurig on without even looking. He’s already used to the layout of the new place, and he gets out a mug and his sweetener packets without even thinking about it. The vanilla unsweetened cashew milk (which is just as nice as he’d thought it would be, something that smells like vanilla but isn’t caloric as all hell) comes out of the fridge next, and condensation drips down the side of the carton as he sets it on the counter top. He places his mug in the machine and sticks a new pod in, starting the Keurig and leaning back with a sigh. The room smells like flavored coffee, buttery and sweet and warm. Kokichi wonders if he’d like coffee, if he was a well adjusted and normal individual. Probably not. He’d hated it in high school, until he started using it to kill his appetite after class. 

He fixes his coffee how he likes it (10 calories, with the new milk and the sweetener. He likes the even numbers) and carries the cup over to the couch, setting it down on his coffee table. He’d use a coaster, but the table is already stained anyway, so he doesn’t think one more water stain will hurt it, really. It’ll add to the charm, if anything. 

He doesn’t open his laptop; something about it still feels too soon. Instead, he pulls his phone out of his sweatpants pocket, unlocking it and flipping over to his texts. 

Kokichi finds himself grinning at his phone screen, which he quickly stops doing before he gets used to it. He might start doing it in public or something embarrassing like that. 

\--

Kokichi thinks something might be wrong with him. 

He’s out for a walk right now, because he’s started to think holing up in the apartment all day is actually bad for his mental health. Plus, exercise. Even though the air has a certain chill to it, and the wind is biting at his skin even though his jacket and scarf and sweats, he’s sort of enjoying the sunlight. It’s one of those days where it _feels_ like it should be cloudy, but it isn’t. The sun stretches across the concrete sidewalk, bright and angled in that way only winter sun can really manage. It smells like the wild, like wet wood and the sweet kind of mold that grows on the leaves on the ground, like the wind through damp leaves and over a shallow creek. He’s on a sidewalk between a small side road and the woods that border his apartment; he hadn’t even known this was here until yesterday. The path goes north, with the rising sun blocked by the houses to his right. The woods are quiet today, but not in the way that he’d thought they would be. The wind whispers through the leaves, and he can hear drops left over from last night’s rain pitter pattering on soft ground. The birds are loud, too, chirping and squawking at each other like they’re arguing. 

He thinks something’s wrong with him, because it hadn’t occurred to him to go for a walk until just now, even though he picked the apartment he did specifically for the closeness to the forest and how easy it would be to exercise here. It’s like he forgot that he can go outside and not just... wallow in his room. Rot. 

Kokichi remembers that Saihara had said he likes to walk in the woods at the park, and he imagines Saihara in the woods outside their apartment. It’s probably the same forest as he walks in, actually; it stretches like a big spider all across town, bent and surrounded by the streets but not totally separated by anything but small dirt roads. He thinks some people live in the center, in isolated properties full of tall pines and wide, strong oaks. 

Saihara would fit in perfectly, he realizes. His dark hair (almost blue- does he dye it? No, it’s not quite bright enough for it to be that) and his eyes the same color as the oak leaves in the winter, a pale brown-green that flirts with the idea of being grey. He’s seen Saihara in his work clothes, mostly, dress shirts and ties and neatly pressed slacks, but he’s looked _good_ in the casual clothes Kokichi’s seen, too. He remembers the time Saihara came over for tea wearing basketball shorts that showed off his pale, pale legs and a t-shirt that revealed he had a long-sleeve shirt tan line. It’s kind of funny to Kokichi, who doesn’t really tan. He just burns, turning red like a ripe tomato. 

_Maybe I should have worn sunscreen_ , he thinks, shading his eyes from the sun as he turns to the right, following the curve of the path. His sneakers drag slightly on the rough concrete, making a soft scraping noise that he finds weirdly soothing. 

And then, he realizes, he hasn’t eaten yet. It’s a moment of pride, bright and strange like the winter sun, then a pang of dread, because he’s _hungry_. It’s stupid because he forgot to think about breakfast, forgot to remember not to eat, but now that he knows it’s going to be harder. Thankfully, out here with the trees swaying to his left and the empty, silent street to his right, he doesn’t have anything to eat. Nothing to spoil this with. 

He thinks, idly, that his stomach being empty makes this prettier. Like the chill that grips him from the inside brightens the sun, sharpens the soft smells of the woods, turns the volume up on the scraping of his feet across the concrete and the twittering of the birds in the trees. It wouldn’t be the same if he was heavy and full and slow. _Food is energy_ , he thinks, remembering what a therapist had told him years ago. _But it isn’t energy I want. It’s clarity._

And today is so, so clear. It’s bright and pure and he feels his lips pulling up in a hint of a smile. He could get used to this, the chill on his skin and the pit in his stomach. Maybe breakfast will be a walk, for the time being. Maybe he doesn’t need to eat as much as he has been. He’s been too nice to himself, after all. 

\--

When Shuuichi dreams, it’s in whispers and mist. When he was getting his associates, he learned about trauma in his line of work. Learned about how the things he’d see (the things he’d have to do) would scar him, how he’d have nightmares and flashbacks and hypervigilance and pain. 

He always thought that he would get it bad, but he didn’t. Something about the way he thinks, about his past, made _this_ kind of pain bearable. Made it easy to brush off, to file away. So he doesn’t dream about work. He dreams about his parents.

Whispered touches, light and gentle. He dreams of his mother’s voice, her hands sifting through his hair. He dreams of her and his father fighting, his dad throwing his glass of beer to the floor and it shattering, dreams of him cleaning it up and bringing his mom flowers the next day. He dreams of his uncle, holding him tight and whispering (always whispering) to him softly, too softly. He dreams of other things, too, things he can’t think about or he won’t be able to get back to sleep.

When he wakes up like this, hands twisted in his duvet, the sheets wrapped tight tight tight around his legs, he feels like he’s choking all over again, like there are hands over his mouth, keeping him quiet. His neck hurts. His head hurts. He forces himself to loosen his death grip on the blanket. Forces himself to pull his mind out of the dream, out of the muffled sounds of arguing and pleading and police sirens. He’s in his room. He’s in his room in his apartment, his legs twisted up in his bed and his back pressed into a pillow. He’s in his room, wearing his favorite sweatshirt and a pair of shorts that are too short to wear out of the house. He’s in his room, drenched in sweat and breathing too fast.

He opens his phone, stares at the light of the screen. He goes to his camera, switches it so he can see his face. He looks like an adult. He _is_ an adult. He’s in his room, safe.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to text Ouma, really. It’s three in the morning, and his neighbor (friend?) won’t be awake anyway. What would they talk about? Shuuichi is sweaty and gross and shaking, goosebumps on his arms under his sleeves. His limbs hurt. 

Shuuichi sighs, unplugging his phone from the charger so he can roll over, trying to untwist himself from the bed at least a bit. 

Shuuichi finds himself giggling- he can’t help it. The detective part of his brain wonders if Ouma’s doing that on purpose. Maybe he realized Shuuichi isn’t the type to just... be awake in the middle of the night. He wonders if Ouma pities him. If he just talks to him because he doesn’t want to deal with Shuuichi moping all the time. Shuuichi’s the one who shows up at _his_ apartment all the time. 

He realizes belatedly that Ouma’s sent him more stuff while he was thinking. 

Shuuichi feels his face flush red when he reads that, and he quickly types out a reply to Ouma. He knows he’s just being messed with, but still...

  
  


Somehow, after just that short conversation, his bed doesn’t feel as much like a sweaty prison any more. He leans over, plugging his phone back in, and sinks back into his bed. He falls asleep thinking of Ouma. 

\--

The next morning, the ground is frosted over with ice, a thin layer of sparkling snow scattered over the ground. It doesn’t usually snow here, Kokichi doesn’t think. It’s pretty though, the blades of grass that poke through his balcony railing cloaked in ice crystals. The trees aren’t too heavy with snow, just dusted with it, and he can see hoofprints in the snow that tell him his deer friends have passed through already. He doesn’t blame them for not lingering; he can feel the chill even through the glass door, his skin prickling into goosebumps as he stands in front of the door. His breath is fogging the glass.

His coffee is warm and sweet, and he wonders if he could skip his morning walk today. It’s got to be in the 20s at most, given how the frost hasn’t even started to melt. The sun’s already up, he thinks, but it’s hard to tell with the oppressive cloud cover that turns the sky a smoky grey, hanging low enough that it turns to tops of the trees black and white with fog. He can just put on a winter coat. And wear leggings under his sweats. 

He shuffles back into his room, where the lights are still off and the curtains are still drawn. He’s got leggings in the pile of clean laundry on his dresser (he hasn’t gotten around to folding it yet, sure him), and his winter coat is draped over his desk chair from when he went to get the mail late at night the other day. He shimmies out of his sweats, trying not to let his gaze linger too long on his thighs, on his hips. He can see where the fat bubbles under the skin, where it covers his muscle and cloaks his bones. He can’t stand the sight of it. Shouldn’t he be thinner by now? Shouldn’t he be underweight, having been like this for _so long_?

He forces himself to pull the black leggings over his pale skin. It covers his scars, scars from back when he hadn’t figured out that starving and puking works better for him than other things. He shivers in the dark of the room, even though it isn’t that cold. He steps back into his sweats. He tugs on his winter coat over his sweatshirt, the material cool from being unworn but quickly warming from his body heat. He pulls on socks, one at a time, his focus fading. He wonders if he looks fat to normal people, in this outfit. Layers upon layers, covering any detail of his shape but bulking him up at the same time. Can they tell he hates himself just by looking?

He puts on converse, the old black and white checked ones that turned black and ivory long ago, back in high school when he got them and walked home through the rain with the dirty puddles staining his shoes and soaking through his socks. He hopes the snow doesn’t start melting. Cold, wet socks are his least favorite. 

He shoves his phone in his pocket and walks to the front door, starting to get warm wearing all of this stuff indoors. The wind still bites at him when he opens the door, stinging his face. He didn’t know what he was expecting, really. It’s snowy out, for fucks sake.

He starts off on his usual route, shuffling his feet along the slick, icy sidewalk. It’s slower than usual, but he doesn’t want to trip, and it’s kind of fun to drag his feet through the thin layer of snow like this. It makes a noise like sharpening a knife, echoing in the silent streets. Nobody else is out. He wonders if people have off work for the holidays yet, or if it’s still a little early for that. His job never _really_ has time off, but the recent job is the only one he’s got going, so it’s fine. He really needs to finish that code. 

He watches a bird hop down from a tree, its little feet sinking into the snow as it lands on the sidewalk, pecking at something on the ground. It’s small, smaller than his closed fist, and it’s a fluffy brown little thing. It looks like it would be pretty warm, even in this kind of weather, with such a puffy coat of feathers. Kokichi stops walking for a moment, so he doesn’t startle it. The snow is reflecting the sunlight now, a bright painful white, and he glances up to see the sun filtering through a break in the clouds, clean and silver where it cuts through the sky. It’s shrinking though, that slice of sunlight, as the clouds drift back together and close the gap. It reminds him of a healing wound. 

The wind picks up from the faint breeze to an uncomfortable, icy whip that stings his bare cheeks and the tips of his ears. His torso is warm, but the wind cuts right through his sweatpants and leggings. A shiver runs through him, and he swiftly turns on his heels and starts to walk back towards his apartment. He hasn’t gotten as far as he usually would go, but it’s too cold for this shit. 

When he rounds the corner, he sees a familiar head of blue black hair in front of Saihara’s apartment building, on the second story landing. Saihara is tugging blankets off of the potted plants he keeps on his porch, his breath in little clouds around him as he struggles with the cloth in his mittens. Kokichi waves, but he doesn’t seem to see him. 

“Hey, Saihara!” Kokichi calls, waving again and putting a bright grin on his face. Saiahra startles, looking up at him, and his shocked face melts into a warm smile. 

“Ouma! What are you doing out in this weather?” He huffs, shoving his mittened hands into the pockets of his coat, a puffy black thing that hangs down to his knees and is zipped up right to his chin. His face looks funny with how he’s staring down at Kokichi. 

“Aw, it’s not that bad,” Kokichi replies, picking up the pace and skipping towards Saihara. “It’s just a little snow!”

Saihara rolls his eyes, and it’s kind of cute with how his cheeks are already flushed pink from the cold. Kokichi opens his mouth to say something about it, only to have the breath rush out of him in a gasp as he feels the snow beneath his foot shift, slick ice beneath. He tries to catch himself, hands out to the sides, but he doesn’t have anything to grab onto as he falls forward, his knees hitting the ground first in a sickening crunch, then slipping under him until his chin knocks against the ground.

“Ouma!” Saihara shouts, and Kokichi blinks from where his face is pressed into the cold, dirty ice on the sidewalk. He notes, idly, that his mouth has filled with coppery hot blood. He bit his tongue, or his cheek. Hard to tell, since his entire chin and jaw are stinging with the fresh-bright pain of a new injury. His knees, too, feel like fire instead of ice. He pushes himself up with his hands, the cold stinging his palms. 

“Are you okay?” Saihara kneels down next to where Kokichi is on his hands and knees. His brows are furrowed as he reaches out a mittened hand, touching the bottom of Kokichi’s chin and tilting it up ever so slightly. Kokichi lets him, his head still spinning from the adrenaline. 

“I’m okay,” he says as Saihara frowns at him. “I just thought it’d be fun to scare you!” He adds, grinning. 

“You’ve got blood in your mouth,” Saihara responds, his frown deepening. “We should get you checked out.”

Kokichi laughs at that, hoping he doesn’t sound too nervous. “Aw, Saihara, I’m fine! Like I said, I just wanted to give you a little scare.”

“Right,” Saihara says, straightening up and offering Kokichi a hand. “Come on.”

Kokichi takes his hand and uses it to help pull himself up. Saihara’s surprisingly strong, although Kokichi supposes he needs to be if he’s a detective. A snowflake drifts from above and lands on Kokichi’s cheek, melting there. 

“Where are we going?” Kokichi asks. Saihara hasn’t let go of his hand, instead turning and marching back toward his apartment, draggin Kokichi with him. “Are you gonna kidnap me now?”

“We can’t drive anywhere until the roads are cleared anyway, Ouma.” Saihara glances back at him as he drags him up the stairs, which are clear of snow. Saihara must have cleaned them. He pushes open the door, which appears to have been unlocked. “I want to check you out and make sure you haven’t hurt yourself, since I don’t think you’d be honest if you had.”

Well. Kokichi can’t argue with the second part, but he _can_ sigh dramatically, so he does. “I’m _fine_ Saihara! I actually like a little pain, you know,” he says, adding a wink even though Saihara doesn’t look back at him, instead dragging him over to his couch. Kokichi notes how plain the room is in here; no decorations at all except for a blue blanket covering the entire couch. Saihara stops in front of the couch, finally letting go of Kokichi’s hand. It’s warmer in the apartment than it is outside, but Kokichi still feels cold where Saihara’s hand used to be. 

“Sit down, I’m going to go get my first aid kit,” he says, waiting for Kokichi to sit before he leaves, apparently. Kokichi reluctantly sits, sinking into the couch and trying not to hiss at the way it stings his knees. He’s not sure if he’s totally successful, because Saihara’s marching off to another room before Kokichi can get a good look at his face. 

Kokichi waits patiently, even though he definitely considers trying to follow Saihara or something. It helps that the couch is actually really comfy right now, warm from being inside in the heat and soft. Softer than his, for sure, which is unfair because he picked his couch out _specifically_ on the basis of softness. This one is plush, though, and he finds himself looking out Saihara’s balcony, the one that matches his own. The view is higher up, obviously, and it overlooks a meadow instead of the forest, a wide grassy thing that’s far too tall for anyone to have ever mowed it. It’s too far away to tell (too frosted over with ice, too) but Kokichi thinks he can see wildflowers among the tall grasses. He wonders what kind of flowers bloom in the dead of winter, anyway. 

“Ouma?” Saihara’s voice is soft, a little concerned, and Kokichi turns his head quickly to look at him. He’s in front of him, with a bright orange first aid kit, the kind you have to order online. 

“Yeah?” Kokichi waggles his eyebrows, and Saihara just rolls his eyes, kneeling on the rug (blue, like the couch cover) and popping open the first aid kit. It’s clearly been used a bunch, with everything inside in a weird sort of disarray and mismatched, different brands used to replace stuff. Kokichi wonders why on Earth Saihara would need to use it so much while Saihara grabs what looks to be a packet of gauze and rips the paper packaging open, turning to face Kokichi.

“Tilt your head up,” he says quietly, and Kokichi complies even though he’d really like to argue. He feels soft gauze dab at his chin, and he wonders if he cut it when he fell. Gross. It better not scar.

Saihara pulls back, face twisted in a frown. “I’m going to get some water on a rag,” he says, standing up and holding the gauze out to Kokichi. “Here, in case it starts bleeding again.”

Again? Kokichi doesn’t voice the question aloud, instead staring down at the little smear of red-dark blood on the white square of gauze. It’s the nice kind of gauze, too, the kind that’s shiny and doesn’t stick to wounds even when the blood dries up into a thick plaque of maroon nastiness. He wonders if Saihara gets injured a lot at work. He hears the sound of a faucet running, then turning off. Saihara’s footsteps are quiet on the tile, and near silent on the rug as he moves to crouch in front of Kokichi again. Did he have time to take his shoes off.

“Are you feeling okay?” Saihara asks, reaching up a hand to tilt Kokichi’s face up again, dabbing a black washcloth that’s cool with water onto his chin. 

“Yeah, I’m great!” Kokichi chirps in response, ignoring the sting as Saihara cleans out the scrape on the bottom of his jaw. There must have been dirt in it, or something. It didn’t really hurt before, numbed with the cold and the adrenaline, but now it hurts like a bitch. His knees, too, and the whole thing is overwhelmingly reminiscent of when he was a kid running through the city, falling and scraping his knees and getting back up again with a smile, DICE members helping him up and laughing at his jokes.

“You’re just quieter than usual,” Saihara says, pulling the cloth back. “I think it’d be best just to put some ointment on this, not a bandage. It’s really not that bad, now that I can actually see it.”

“You’re being more assertive than usual,” Kokichi replies, winking at Saihara from the weird angle he’s at, head still tilted back. “I kinda like it. Very sexy, you know?”

Saihara rolls his eyes, turning back to the first aid kit and pulling out a full sized tube of antibiotic ointment. He opens it and squeezes out a drop onto his index finger, then reaches up and smears it on Kokichi’s wound. It stings, but not as bad as the cloth, and Saihara pulls back, apparently satisfied.

“I’m used to this kind of stuff,” he replies, quietly like he’s not really thinking about what he’s saying.

“From work?” Kokichi asks, tilting his head back to a normal position. 

“Let me see your knees,” Saihara says, waving a hand at where Kokichi’s jeans are stained dark with melting snow from where he fell. 

“Oh, so you want me to take my pants off?” Kokichi asks, crowing at him. “Before you even take me to dinner?!” He gets a rush of satisfaction at the way that _finally_ gets Saihara, the other man leaning back and his face turning a blotchy bright red.

“No, I--” Saihara turns away. “I just want to make sure you didn’t hurt them when you fell! I-I didn’t mean--”

“Hahah, Saihara-chan is all shy!” Kokichi interrupts him, cackling perhaps a little too loudly in the small, quiet apartment. Saihara ducks his head, closing the first aid kit and standing up. 

“Y-You can check if you broke the skin in my bathroom,” he mutters, “If you want.”

Kokichi shakes his head, sticking his tongue out at Saihara. “I’m fine, Saihara, jeez! You already patched me back up, like the world’s sexiest nurse!”

Saihara snorts in shock at that, and Kokichi can’t help but laugh again, tilting his head back and doing his best supervillain laugh at the ceiling. He definitely hears Saihara laughing too, quieter than his own but still definitely there. 

\--

Kokichi had been right about his knees. They’re bruised, dark black/purple/red marks that spread over his pale knees like watercolor on wet paper, but the skin isn’t broken. It’s a good thing, too, because the next day when he rolls out of bed and they’re swollen and angry, he thinks that having open wounds on them would really make the whole experience even more miserable. 

The wound on his chin bruises too, leaving him with a dark mark that stretches from the tip of his chin to the left side of his jaw, like he got punched in the face. It’s kind of a good look, he thinks as he stares at himself in the mirror. Dark marks under his eyes, a bruised jaw, a bit lip where he chomped down on himself when he fell, bruised knees. He looks like he got in a nasty fight, or something, not that he slipped on a slick patch of ice.

He doesn’t bother with putting concealer on any of it. It’s not like high school, when he wanted to keep the bruises hidden. He doesn’t plan on leaving his apartment except to go for a walk later, when the ice has melted. He’s not about to repeat yesterday’s mistakes. Not that Saihara would let him. 

He plops down on his couch, curling up into the arm of it and unlocking his phone, opening it to messages. Saihara’s been blowing up his phone all morning. 

He blinks at his phone, typing out a reply. He’d gotten the impression that Saihara liked his company, but his behavior is... a little odd. He wonders if the guy has anxiety or something. That’d mean they had more in common than he thought. 

Kokichi smiles at his phone, then shuts it off and sets it down on his stomach. Lunch, huh? Maybe he should eat something. It’s that time of day, after all. 

He shuts his eyes instead, letting the armrest hold his head up as he takes a deep breath. A nap will hold him for now. He’ll sleep, and see if he’s still hungry later. He can hold out a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for this chapter:  
> minor injury, usual eating disorder stuff
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!! i've been absolutely floored at the support this fic is already getting :D


End file.
